Amidst the swiftly passing throng,
The urge to merge in, resting in her heart for far too long.
The horde, rushing at a breakneck speed,
The lone individual, being paid no heed.
Days of rooftop screaming,
Wrinkling rather beaming.
Months of salty familiarity,
Melancholy rather gaiety.
Years of ocean wading,
The soul gradually fading.
With one swift motion,
She could be lying on the ground; deceased.
Letting go of all caution,
She could be lying on the ocean bed; deceased.
But she's sage,
Or is she really?
For the screeches refuse to end,
Not caring that they're falling on deaf ears.
And the salty fluid continues cascading down her cheeks,
Turning her numb; wiping away all the fear.
Only when the heart gives way,
And the lungs shrink, bringing an end to the survival fray,
Does the rabble come to a halt.
As they acknowledge the corpse,
Their repellent mouths spit condolences,
And oh, the pseudo solace had never been so odious before.
YOU ARE READING
Symmetry
Poetry"There is Sun and storm in every blossoming. That is where the poetry lives" All rights reserved to @destellos_, 2016.
